


Not This Time

by FandomTrash



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Boys In Love, Childhood Memories, Cute Kids, Demigods, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Memory Related, Nico knows his shit, Nico like wtf dont touch the dead bird you don't know where its been, Reincarnation, Repressed Memories, The Author Regrets Nothing, They're still demigods, True Love, but i love it, fucking hell, i guess, i hate this fandom, look at notes, look at notes at the end for explanations, my take on the reincarnation AU's, so like, tags suck, technically, they just sorta said no to the option this time round, uh yeah, what does that tag mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrash/pseuds/FandomTrash
Summary: Awestruck, gaping, floundering-like-a-fish-on-land Percy blurted, “I will eat you.”Yup.Good enough.*“Neeks.” Nope.“Hi Nico.”Let's try that introduction again. "I'm Percy.And it all started falling into place after that.





	Not This Time

Small, pale, weird. Little button nose, big eyes, curly black hair. Cute, in ways. Babies tended to confuse Percy on the best of days, but this one? This little one bundled in clinically green, sorta-papery blankets definitely caught Percy's attention. He was so small. All wide eyes that are lit up with something a little too old for such a pale, chubby little face and hair so dark, thick and curly, it was a no-brainer that the little baby was Bianca's brother.

Well. Percy looked from his older friend to his newborn one, and struggled for similarities. But then again, the baby was just that. A baby. He wouldn't really show anything until he was around Percy's age; three or maybe older. But the baby, Mary's baby boy, he was pale. And small. He heard the doctors talk to Mary 'bout how he was 'underweight' or something. 'Early'. Yeah; he's pretty sure his mom said something about Mary going into labor early. Whatever that meant.

Maybe the baby was just eager to see the world.

That didn't make sense. The baby looked like he would rather be anywhere but Mary's arms, in Percy's opinion, no matter how quiet and sleepy-looking the baby was. “Y'think he'll get a cool name?” He asked Bianca. She only sighed, seven year old Bianca did, and turned the page of her book. “He's called  _Niccolò_ , Perce.”  Niccolò : her accent – what little of it there was – was laid on thick over the word. The name.  Niccolò . 

“Niccolò?” He checked. Bianca flipped her hair a little, “Niccolò Antonio di Angelo, yes.” Huh. Weird name. Weird baby. Weird everything, really. From the door's window, Percy couldn't help but think that this 'Niccolò' was a little too pasty. He looked washed out in comparison to Mary's olive tone, and his lips looked purple. 

He voiced this concern to Bianca. She looked up, clearly disinterested. For a few moments, it was quiet. Then she just shrugged, eyes back to her book, “He's fine, Perce. Daddy was pale; maybe he's just got more of daddy's genes.” Percy didn't know what that meant, so he decided to let it go. Still  Niccolò was small, but still pudgy in ways only a baby can be, with his dark eyes and his dark hair and his purple lips. Percy cocked his head, face plastered to the window. His mom waved to him through the glass, sitting beside Mary's side. 

They'd been friends for a while, he mused, both him and Bianca, but also Mary and his mom. He remembers meeting Mary with her swollen belly, her tired eyes and that head of curly brown hair that was always frayed and tugged at with stress. Mary was...nice, he supposed. To be honest, Bianca was okay. Not great, not wonderful; not his  _best friend_ , but okay. She talked, sometimes. Other times, she was like every other seven year old he knew.

Stuck up, know-it-all, long words, rolling eyes.

She was practically a teenager already.

But Percy was almost as tall as her now, even though he was three and she was seven. Ha. Beat that, Bianca. Or maybe she was just a short seven year old. Who knew. Not Percy. Percy didn't really care, either, since he had his eyes glued to the little baby.  Niccolò Antonio di Angelo . In his paper-towel blanket thing. It was sorta green. It was damp, too, which made him wonder.

Later, about another eternity or so (fifteen minutes, Bianca informs him,) they're allowed inside. Bianca doesn't take her eyes from her book. Percy thought that was a little sucky, a little mean, maybe rude. Like,  _c'mon!_ That's her new baby brother right there – she's gotta make sure that the world doesn't hurt him! Y'know, like a  _big sister_ does?

He huffed, rolling his eyes a little when it's his turn to look at this little baby  Niccolò. Cute. He'd got really long eyelashes, come to think of it. Big eyes, like he said earlier. Big, dark, shiny eyes. “Hi,” Percy muttered, gently stroking the knuckles of the hand closest to him. Cold. Like – like...fish, he supposed. When they're cold and scaly but you can't really feel their scales because they're so smooth. Maybe Niccolò was secretly a fish. It made Percy smile, “You're like a fish.” Somewhere behind him, his mom chuckled softly, “How's he like a fish?” He then proceeded to explain his thought process to her, and whilst he expected a few dubious looks from Mary, he hadn't expected her to sit motionlessly. Sad. Blue.

Which was even suckier, because that was his favorite color.

But little Niccolò, cute little thing with that weird look that all babies have and don't grow out of until they start walking, he grabbed Percy's finger. “Hi,” He stuttered dumbly. Because, what else was he gonna say? It's not like this baby could speak to him yet. It's – uh, _he's_ not that special. Niccolò's a baby. Still a baby. A newborn. Or something like that, Percy wasn't one for details. Or remembering them. He's three, give him some slack.

Anyway, little, doe-eyed, button-nosed Niccolò grabbed his finger and held onto it tightly. This time, he managed to say something. Awestruck, gaping, floundering-like-a-fish-on-land Percy blurted, “I will eat you.”

Yup.

Good enough.

It makes Niccolò laugh, so he felt that it was adequate enough. Somewhere next to him or relative to, Bianca scrutinized him for the briefest of moments. She all but startled when her new kid-brother cooed. Softly, like most babies that don't suffer from that gods-awful thing called colic or whatever. It suited Niccolò quite well, Percy decided. Niccolò cooed, so soft and fresh with his little newborn weird clean-smell to him. Sort of like antiseptic. It worked well enough.

Looking between Bianca and Niccolò, Percy pursed his lips. “Niccolò,” He tried. Nothing. The kid-baby-brother thingy just clung to his finger and nummed on them a little bit. Gross. But not gross. Cute. But still sorta gross. He wrinkled his nose. “Nikki.” Because Niccolò was far too long for such a little kid. And believe him, Percy knew that name was gonna cum and bite his butt when the kid started trying to write it. Writing sucks.

“Neeks.” Nope.

Percy hummed, thinking long and hard. Gently, he moved his spare hand to poke one of those pudgy little cheeks. He glanced to Mary. Wasn't she meant to be...uh, breast-feeding him or something? Newborn babies need their...their - “What's the 'n' word, ma?” His mom blinked down at him, eyes wide. Then he – rudely, he will admit – pointed at his mom's... _y'know._ (Tits, Percy will say later into his teen years. To put it simple. Tits. Her tits, people.) His mom continued to blink at him, “Percy, they don't begin with _n_ -”

He shook his head, sighing, “No, no! The – the, uh. The stuff you get from it ma, y'know. Nooo...something.” This time she smiled, the crinkles around her eyes only just-there but still enough to make Percy wonder. “Nutrients, honey.” Yeah. Nutrients. New kid-babies need nutrients from the...y'know. So why wasn't Mary...?

One look at her decided he wasn't going to ask.

So tried, moreso than usual, and she was sorta scary looking with how...away she was. Like, far away. So far away, little Percy didn't really want to think about it. Bianca had distanced herself to the chair in the corner of the room, so far away, both of them so far. This little kid-baby-Niccolò wasn't gonna survive without them. He knew that much. He learned from one of the bigger kids in the neighborhood that babies die without touch.

Niccolò let out this little warble-sound. Sort of like a coo, but more like he was sinding. Almost, anyways. Then the idea came to him, a dimly lit light bulb of apprehensive uncertainty. A potential light, something settling into his gut. A trepidation of sorts, but Percy was three years old and he couldn't spell 'Percival' yet, so whatever.

“Nico.”

Niccolò shrieks. Loud, joyfully. Everybody flinches at the big ol' smile that bares his toothless gums. Everybody, that is, but Percy. Something was _right_ about that nickname.

“Hi Nico.”

Let's try that introduction again, now that Percy has little Nico's attention. Stubby little purple-cold fingers around his own, that clinically green, papery-thin blanket around his naked little body. Fresh, new. New enough, Percy supposed. Little Nico, with his button nose and his terrifyingly knowing gaze. An approval so bright that Percy felt it sing like church-bells from Venice, the naturalness of terracotta roofs and concrete-lined rivers, blazing suns and loud laughter.

“I'm Percy.”

And it all started falling into place after that.

* * *

Percy got weird dreams.

Blurry stuff, not too descriptive or memorable. Most of it was like fever dreams, or those weird ones that don't really mean anything. Swords clashing together, people yelling, a whole lot of screams and the sound of chaos. It was like the entire of Manhattan crumbling beneath gods.

Other times, they were a little more crisp, a little more sensical. Him and a boy; black haired, sad, impossibly alone in a pavilion full of people and a sword longer than Percy's forearm at his hip. He looked sorta like Nico, if he thought about it. Same awkwardly big hands, because Nico's just _like that_ with his gangly little body. Same swallowingly deep eyes, depths of oceans, bowls of earths and whatever other poetical garbage mythos could come up with.

He didn't tell anybody about the dreams. Brushed off as silly things that don't really make sense, something his mind threw together to entertain him during his unconscious hours. They don't scare him (a lot, they scare him a lot sometimes. Not the action-packed mess of adrenaline ones, it's like the soccer and swim practices really, those dreams. But the ones where he's alone, so terribly alone in a room full of people with a longing for somebody that he can't place, and it doesn't make sense. Something he can't have, because somebody else already has it, and somewhere, he knows those aren't his own emotions he's feeling. It scares him that he doesn't know.)

But no, the dreams don't scare him enough to talk to somebody about it. So he just shrugs them off, continues his days and revolves his entirety around his sun, moon, stars: Nico. Five year old Nico, with stalk-thin legs and arms, with one of his front-teeth missing (Bianca's fault,) and that mess of hair that Percy loves to try and braid.

Five year old Nico; his best friend, his only _true_ friend, his stubborn, five year old friend who declared that pomegranate-ice is better than blueberry-ice. Percy's eight now. He's a big boy. He should be mature enough to decide that agreeing to disagree is the way to go and be done with it. But this little boy in the kitchen chair across from him is being too absurd to just let this stand by.

“Blueberry,” He said, confident, final. Nico just shook his head, eyes urgently wide and eager to get Percy to _understand_ , “Nu-uh! Pomm!” 'Pomm', because Nico couldn't say 'pomegranate' without biting his tongue. And, wow, Nico's little canines are sharp and bring tears to his big black eyes when he bit the inside of his cheek. Poor little thing.

“Blueberry,” He insisted. Nico just shook his head again, stirring his straw-spoon thing that all the slush-pups have at the carnivals (his mom keeps them and washes them out for the boys to make homemade slush-pups with.) He then took a huge gulp. And, of course, Percy marveled momentarily because how can this little boy drink nearly a third of such a big cup like that, fresh from the fridge, and not get brain-freeze. “Pomm.” He said afterward, eyes nearly shut with the contentedness of his cute little smile.

Percy, patient and opinionated Percy, he ran a hand through his hair; he got it cut recently. Nico loved it, ran his wiry hands through all the short-cropped fuzziness at the back.

He couldn't fight Nico on this. This cute little thing with dirt under his nails, with pink-stained lips and innocent eyes. He slumped, dug at his blueberry-ice and took a sip. Then he scooped a little up, carefully maneuvering it out of the cup and offered, “Try it?” Just try it, he wasn't trying to prove anything anymore. Nico liked his pomegranate-ice, and Percy liked his blueberry. Simple as, now that he though about it.

Nico blinked at it, mouth twisted suspiciously, “Is it...nice?” Was it – was it _nice?_ Of course it was! It was the bestest, most greatest thing that Percy had ever – “Very nice,” He said, and held the straw-spoon thing out a little further. Eventually, after cocking his head at it like a magpie to a shiny thing, he leaned forward and...

Well, to put it simply, he nearly gagged on it.

He pulled back, rubbing his throat a little but swallowed without preamble. Percy furrowed his eyebrows, “You okay?” Nico nodded, scooting his chair a little closer like he liked to do when he was with Percy, “Yup.” Then he shoved his cup at Percy, repeatedly, “Now you try, Perce. You try.” Because he's five and still not a big talker, and he only had to say a quick turn-of-phrase for somebody to understand.

Percy smiled, graciously taking the cup. He'd tried pomegranate before. It tasted bad; bitter, uncomfortably chewy. He took a sip anyway, because he saw Nico dump like three spoons of sugar into the ice earlier. Maybe this time would be different.

So, he took a sip, and expertly hid his dislike by swallowing it almost immediately. He didn't shudder afterward, either, which was bonus-point worthy. Nico looked at him hopefully, like only Nico could, and Percy smiled. He didn't like lying. He hated it. “Good.” That's all he'd get away with, apparently, because Nico's smile fell.

“No like.”

'No like', because Nico doesn't get the concept of _you didn't like it, did you?_ Because he's five. A tiny little kid-brother that nobody paid attention to, didn't bother to correct and help improve his vocabulary. Percy would, if he was any better. Half the time, Percy himself would just half-ass his sentences and point until people understood that, _honey, do you want your fish-plushi?_

He shrugged, playing with his straw-spoon, “No.” Nico looked down, clearly a little displaced, and wriggled his toes through the holes in his socks. Percy couldn't bare the look on his best friend's face. All tight-lipped, eyes lowered and unsure of what to say next. So Percy smiled anyways, a realer smile, “I like you, though.” Because he did, and Nico needed a little love, because he's five and Bianca hated him and his mom was never home, and the kids at school made fun of the fact that he's falling behind in education.

Percy knew that feeling _all too well_.

And Percy got it.

Percy, eight year old Percy with dislecix – or something, he didn't care, it's annoying – and a hatred for math, got it, for once. Or, always had, when it came to Nico. Because something attuned him to five year old little Nico, with his frail limbs and the metallic-smoke smell that clung to him even though Percy _knows_ that Nico's never been near a scrap yard in his short life.

He smelled weird. Yeah, so did Percy. Percy smelled like sea-water, for gods' sakes.

He couldn't spell his own name. Yeah, neither could Percy. But people still thought he's cool.

He's so...weird. We're all weird. Shut up.

And so on.

So He leaned in close when Nico whipped his head to him, all disbelief and guilty little hunch to his shoulders. He hugged his best friend, drinks aside; forget the rain out the kitchen window, forget the crying from his mother's room where his mom and Nico's mom are hiding, forget the twelve year old girl in the apartment next door that was buried in books and not much else.

Because Nico's here. Percy's here, and that's all they'd ever need.

“You're still my best friend, even if your drinks are gross.” Nico giggled into the crook of his neck, little Nico who he pulled into his lap and awkwardly holds to him even though he and Nico were about the same size. Nico's cool hands on his arm, his fruity-breath on his face as they giggled. Like a bunch of girls, really. But who cared? Not him. Percy never really cared about whether something's girly or not. Hell, Nico's a little girly with how he liked to wear such big clothing that it might be a dress.

It's just the way they were, and his teacher said that it was a very mature view for him to hold.

(From then on, Percy learned to appreciate pomegranate.)

* * *

“Y'ever think maybe humankind just...sucks? Like, as a whole?” Nico's vocabulary spiked up during the summer he and Bianca were in California. That was a while ago, now, but something told Percy that it was a persistence that he receive extra education. Now, Nico can pronounce those too-long words, and he doesn't get _as_ frustrated when trying to use a word in a context that just doesn't fit quite right and he can't figure out why.

Seven year old Nico was smart like that, you see. Just like Bianca was.

And ten year old Percy still didn't understand how the heck 'a' turns into '3a' if there is three 'a's in a sequence. Not that Nico did, either, but at least he understood that there's an accent on the end of 'Niccolò' now. So that's a start, he supposed. Still doesn't mean Nico could actually spell it correctly. Too many 'L's and not enough 'C's. Enough of letters. Percy hated letters.

Bianca hummed in response to the question that wasn't aimed at her, idly turning the page of her book, “Misanthropist.” Big words. Nico scrunched his nose at her, rolling his eyes in a way all too familiar and similar. No matter how unalike they claim to be. Percy settled the boy by ruffling his hair with a shrug, “A little, yeah. Sometimes. Why?” Stunted answers, because Percy's at that age where he thought just a little bit before he spoke, but not enough to really string along an eloquent response to everything.

Nico reclined beside him on the couch, fiddling with the joystick of the Wii nun-chuck in his right hand. Percy's Wii U was old, and it took some time loading and rebooting, forget reading the disk. “Some idiots at school. It's whatever.” He picked that up a while ago, this casual turn-a-phrase that fits his mouth better than whatever he had been trying to speak before. Said he heard 'a some buncha people' talking like it down on the west coast and decided that, 'yeah man, I can sorta rock this'. And he's right of course, because Nico has a knack for these intricacies.

So Percy nodded. “It's whatever,” He echoed, and gave a triumphant, “A'iiiight!” When the familiar tune of the Wii U menu starting up and the little image top-left of Mario Kart waiting to be played. Bianca rolled her eyes, disdainful, disinterested in stupid kid-boy activities. Twelve years old, now, she was far too sophisticated for it.

Nico picked _King Boo_ , because who else would he chose? Then Percy nabbed Luigi and that stupid motorcycle he couldn't control all too well, that made Nico snigger when he waved his arms in awkward angles to stay upright. It was worth it in the end, Percy reasoned, because his best friend laughed and he got to experience what a victory was. It's not like he was gonna get it anywhere else.

Not from that father of his, who bounced from Italy to New Orleans to California and gods-know where now. Not from that mother of his, either, the one that'd always been a little off on Percy's dull radar, with that teetering edge to her and the weariness to her eyes that is glazed and the tinge to her breath that reminds him of vodka.

Not that Percy would know anything.

He – He had a dream the other night. A little out there, a little jump from the previous topic, but he just... _thought_ about it. It put him off, made him squirm, made him look at his mother like she had a second head for the duration of time in the car to school.

She had blue eyes, the dream showed. Blue eyes, and long, dark, curly hair that she always tied up. Her hands should've been worn like baker's hands were, with knobbly knuckles laced with a tenderness to them that made his heart burst. There would've been moments when he saw her break, just a little bit, though the cracks in her aged and jaded facade as _perfect mother_. And it would've made him love her all the more, love her heart and her soul and love her for being the one to bring him into that world.

But his mother has brown eyes, now. Brown eyes, that are new and shiny and loving in all ways a mother is and can be, but not – not like she had been damaged, somewhere along the line. Not like she had sacrificed so much to be proud and watch her boy grow into a young man. She wasn't his mother, not really, not in the ways his dream whispered and informed him of. His current mother had soft hands, because she was a psychiatrist or something along those lines. The lines in her face were only just settling in, hadn't been there for long, and her hair wasn't faded with grays of stress and apprehension of _is my son alive, and is he coming home?_

There had been that boy. The one that looks like Nico but more worn, more matured, more dispirited. There's a...a vision, somewhere in those dreams early that morning that lingered and niggled at the back of his head – no, not visions. Memories. But ten year old Percy wouldn't have that sort of knowledge. Nobody would. But there's this image imprinted into the backs of his eyelids. This Nico, this Nico that lived timelessly – long enough for a century to fly by, almost – he had been promised blue cake for his efforts.

Efforts of what, Percy didn't know, and that set an ache in his heart.

There was this feeling that Nico deserved recognition, for something, for more than just _something_ , but what? What? How the heck is ten year old, algebra-failing, word-muddling Percy supposed to know that? So he leaned against Nico a little more, ignoring the dry complaints filling his ear when the motion veered his friend's kart off the track. Percy sighed. He didn't feel like playing Mario Kart anymore.

Later, after dinner, after those false mothers of theirs had retired to the kitchen for hushed gossip and Bianca slunk back to their apartment across the hall, Nico caught him by his elbow with this haunted look. An ethereal look to him, from the moon outside; it was only around five in the evening, but the winter months always make everything so dark and cold.

“What's up, Neeks?” He'd ask. The lack of scowling and light punches from his younger friend honed his attention onto the other quick. Nico, clammy-palmed, wide-eyed and unseeing Nico, he experienced a full-body shudder that Percy felt in his bones.

“Bianca's dead.” What.

For long moments, ones that didn't fleet, didn't rush away from the grasp of his fingers, ones that trundled by sluggishly, neither of them breathed. Nico's hand on his wrist was the feel of ice cubes rubbing into salt on exposed flesh. The echoed pain of a scalding iron that is so cold it burned. There's a quality to Nico's eyes, those big eyes filled with the obscurity of inchoate and rudimentary thoughts that manifested into a blind flood of emotions he'd bottled up for safe keeping.

“That's not my sister.”

Percy could only agree with him through a nod. Because no, that wasn't his sister, wasn't the one that died during a mechanical freak-accident with her last dying words being that he take care of her _fratellino_. And a damned Hades figurine for some card game that doesn't exist. Not anymore, at least.

This Bianca's hair was just-off, a shade of mahogany too light, eyes caramel instead of mocha and skin alive, bright and youthful in ways that showed she never lived longer than she has currently. No vintage quality to the way she braided her hair, no retro-throwback vibe that made Percy's stomach twist into knots of confusion. This was not the Bianca that Nico apparently knows.

“Bianca's dead.” He repeated.

Gently, oh so carefully, like Nico was a caged animal and Percy was only prey to his vicious jaws, he rested a hand on Nico's shoulder. That hand quickly moved to support beneath his thighs whilst the other hooked Nico's leg around his waist. Hoisting this little Nico, this adorable boy, his best friend onto his hip, Percy lead them to his bed and settled them under the covers. He pulled President Porpoise to Nico's chest and breathed.

“I know,” He said eventually. That's all he could offer, and he felt Nico shudder and curl up into his slightly-bigger embrace, head on his shoulder and tug the comforter to his chin. “Everybody I know is dead, Perce,” Nico whispered. So brokenly, so terrified and miserable. It settled a rock in Percy's gut, made him wonder how long Nico knew, how long this little boy of his that he knew was something special the moment they met -

Made him wonder if Nico knew Percy like Percy knew Nico.

But before Percy could ask, Nico had fallen asleep. He shifted down a little, dubbing that Tuesday night to be an early one, before combing hands through this little boy's hair. By now, Percy had become used to the feel of Nico's face pressed to his neck, feel his own pulse beat against the curve of Nico's plump little lips there and found solace in the idea that something so cool, like Nico, was desperate for something scalding and burning.

Ten years old, and Percy had already vowed to himself, if not to that dead Bianca perhaps centuries gone by now, that he would look after Nico.

* * *

They never did bring it up again. The dreams ~~memories~~.

No, Percy got more engrossed into the norms of school, the people twisted into certain shapes that don't completely interlock with his own, but just enough so that they hook – albeit awkwardly – and they get attached. There was this power that came with having someone hang onto your every word, he mused. Still ten, but August neared sluggishly like every one of these slow-paced summer evenings on the fire escape.

This feeling of invincibility, he supposed, that's what it was. To have people look at you like something to marvel at, something that struck fear into the hearts of gods (well, the amorphous muddle of gold-drenched ichor and primordial energy, because Nico once told him that's what he remembered when he saw a god's true being one time when he fought this mist that neither of them really understood sometime far too long ago now and well. Maybe it wasn't that long ago.)

To have people bend their wills around your finger. Enticing, to say the least, this feeling of being wanted and needed. That they looked at him, saw bliss, and yearned for more and more and more. It was incredible, this popularity. And for ten year old Percy who still sucked at algebra and still couldn't let go of this fact that whilst he is his own, terribly jagged and unique shape, Nico's head fit into the crook of his neck and where the boy's shoulder lined up against his ribs was just perfect. Nobody could tell him otherwise.

But yeah; friends. Percy gained a lot of them. Which was sort of weird. And new. This girl Annabelle; blonde, gray eyes. She clung to him like strangle-weed, a dandelion choking off the bluebells. Then Grover – had a limp to his step, a habit for bleating through a lot of his words. Others, of course, so many of them. It was euphoric, every time, to find that _oh yeah_. _I have people to hang out with_. (Granted, Grover was a little older. A little suspicious.)

A lot of the time, that took his attention from Nico.

He hated it.

Hanging out with friends at lunch meant that Nico often got left behind, left to shrink in on himself and get whisked away in the wind. There was always an ache that settled into his chest, an absence of cute little Nico and his big black eyes and those clever little quips that'd make Annabelle look like a run for her money.

Going out with friends after school meant that Nico was left to walk home alone. Alone, all the way across town, because the school bus would only take him so far and it's not like Bianca was putting any effort into keeping track of him. (That's where things differ from this Bianca and his previous one. She doesn't give a fuck.)

So, this nearing weekend that was Piper's birthday, Percy canceled. His mom had been upset, asking why, why, and why again, but he only needed to utter Nico's name and she just smiled. Piper thought that it was lame for him to still hang out with the 'tiny-tots', that he should grow up and be a little cooler, but Percy didn't care. When he asked Nico what he wanted to do this weekend, the look on his face was all Percy needed to know he'd done the right thing.

Far too many months, far too many and it's already nearing the end of the year. Percy wouldn't just drop Nico like that, he couldn't. Not his aspiring best friend with a gauntness to him that was Mary's fault and dark circles under his eyes from sleeping too much. It's all Nico ever really did, and Percy's mom said it was something about him being a growing boy and needing his energy. Bianca said it was because he didn't eat enough, but then made no efforts to actually improve that factor. So that weekend, Percy planned to gorge on takeout.

Because his mom was going away to see some friends for the weekend, and Percy was old enough now and he knew everybody in the building in case anything happened. And, after all and most importantly, the di Angelos were just next door. So she left as much cash as she could on the counter, and told the boys to have fun.

Percy ordered two large pizzas. Simple pepperoni, and a Hawaiian style one. During the wait, Nico had emerged from Percy's bedroom, where he had collapsed and promptly fell dead to the world for a couple hours. Not – not sleeping, no, not like the little seven year old really needed. He just lay there; Percy sat with him, fidgeting, unable to stay still. Eventually he had been fondly dismissed.

So then Nico settled onto the couch, sinking as deep as he could into those worn leather cushions. Percy glanced down at him, ruffling his hair, “What's up?” Nico hummed, sank further, but leaning into Percy's hand. He let it stay there, in those dark curls, and just watched for a while.

Same button nose, those dark eyes – all tired, drained. The feeling seeped from him like ink into the cracks of brickwork and cobblestone. A while passed. Ages, eons, eternities. Nico didn't attempt to answer, and Percy didn't pry. But he did sink into the leather with his friend, humming softly some broken tunes that didn't relaly string together as smoothly as the original song entailed.

A little after that, Nico disappeared into Percy's bedroom, emerging with something that would resemble a sketchbook. The spine was frayed and a lot of the contents in it tended to be words scrawled messily on top of each other, over and over until the word didn't look like anything anymore. Nico did that a lot. He could point at one, tell you what it said, tell you exactly how many times he wrote it, and what the weather was like during his little phase of black-out. But if you asked him what the word meant, he'd tell you he had no idea.

Just words he saw and recognized.

Mainly from Bianca's books.

( _ruination, damnation. Idyllic and hellish._ )

Percy stood, feet cold as he padded into the kitchen, even colder as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Pepsi. Not blue, but the wrapper itself was blue – mostly. It was good enough. He grabbed a can of Coca-Cola for Nico, before returning to the couch. He pressed the condensation-dampened metal to his friend's head: Nico blinked. Adorably, of course, with his mouth twitching a little as his entire body froze whilst he processed whatever it was that Percy had brought to him. Afterward, Nico placed his pencil down and curled bandaid-wrapped fingers around the drink.

There was a dedication to drinking from a can, Percy reasoned. Pressing the tab, listening to that _ssshck_ of a hiss and knowing that once it's fully opened, there's no closing it. A dedication to a simple act that was too much pressure for cloudy-headed, ten year old Percy to really have the guts to go through with.

A commitment issue, let's say. So there'd always be this little _whoa_ sort of jolt in his bloodstream every time Nico's blunt fingernails would tap on the metal. He never opened it immediately, drumming on the lid of the can whilst he waited for potential bubbles to settle. The dirt under his nails flaked off a little bit. Percy had a weird obsession with Nico's nails. His hands in general.

Rough pads of his fingers, not unalike from Percy's; they were out exploring when they weren't pent up in the apartments. And hell, New York's a concrete jungle with harsh edges and unforgiving rubble. It was no wonder. But the texture of Nico's half-formed callouses where a different texture, smoother, if not just a layer of hardened flesh at the ends of his fingers. From other hobbies he'd been picking up, no doubt. He always said he wanted to play guitar, after listening to those old _Ramones, Rolling Stones_ and the other ones. Maybe he'd found joy in those hours away from Percy at school after all. His hands were a little too big, too, like Percy's, like stretched-out bones and skin taught over ligaments and raw knuckles.

Percy's own hands were rough, already at ten years old, and he was never really sure what from. He had vague ideas of carrying ingredients in heavy sacks into the back of a candy shop, or from gripping something that was heavy with a hilt, but not much else. But then the present would flood back in with reasonable answers to the callouses on his young hands. Sports, playing on monkey-bars and tug-a-war with the dogs at the park.

The harsh hiss of a can being opened reeled him back to his apartment, to his television and his couch, to Nico and his canned dedication. Nico blinked up as he startled, a perplexed expression etched into the furrow his eyebrows. “You okay?” Percy nodded, leaning into his side, “Yeah. I'm good. You?” The seven year old nodded, sipping his drink. Percy fiddled with the cap of his bottle, nerves hot-wired after such a distraction.

Nico hummed, leaned and rested his drink on the coffee table, and returned to his sketches. A sword. A familiar thing. Long, black, little skull crested at the end of the hilt and hell, it wasn't even finished. Only a brief outline, it wasn't colored in, the little skull could barely be recognized as such a thing, but Percy _knew._

 ~~He'd fought right beside it's wielder, after all~~.

* * *

Once, they found a dead bird. Flew into a window, probably, but that didn't change the fact that they found one. Nico had taken to it like a dog to a bone. With a twig, he crouched down, started poking the thing. Blue feathers. Blue feathers, white feathers, black beak. Bluejay. That's what Percy thought it was, anyway.

However, Nico told him differently. Said it was a little demon. Had a pair of claws, apparently, with glazed yellow eyes and its flesh was leathery. Percy didn't believe him until the younger boy jabbed the stick at the bird and its stomach split. Gold dust seeped out, from every pore until the feathers turned into red-brown leathery material. Almost like a bat, but uglier. It wheezed out something before vanishing in the cluster of golden mess.

They didn't talk about it; after that, it appeared a lot in Nico's sketchbook.

* * *

When Nico turned ten, Percy took him out for coffee, because that's what the kid liked around that time – all black with lots of sugar, which Percy found disgusting (but had learned to like.)

However, upon stepping into the establishment, the girl behind the counter dropped the pencil she had been holding. Fiery hair, ghoulishly green eyes that stared something terrifyingly raw and true into the depths of Percy's being and tore out memories of a girl long forgotten – a messy clack of teeth when she kissed him, her boyish sort of laughter, a hairbrush – before it all fell away. Nico was already over there, helping her gather the loose sketches that had fallen from her hands, holding them up to her, “Hey! Hey lady? Your papers.”

She stared down at this with this dawning sort of horror that didn't sit right with Percy. So he strode forward, took the papers from his wiry hands and settled them onto the counter-top between them. He didn't like how the girl, all crazy red hair and paint splotches despite lack of paint, looked at them. Like she'd been personally hurt by them, and he couldn't figure out why that shifted his guts around.

Nico apparently felt the same way. The way he had hunched his shoulders, glower half-lidding his eyes and mouth in a snarl was strikingly familiar to him, yet Percy had never seen such a face expressed by his friend. It felt sort of natural, the way Nico's entire figure stooped, hands in the pockets of his ratty jeans. “You're welcome,” He scoffed, before glancing at Percy.

They gave the redhead their orders, suspicious and aware in ways that came naturally for inexplicable reasons. The pair wandered to a little table by the window, Nico ultimately residing to the seat that pressed up against the wall. The entire room was in his view from his position, just as he liked it. Nothing could sneak up on him. So Percy took the chair across from him, throwing repetitive glances behind him to the girl at the counter. If the people around them found her reaction weird, they didn't show it. Then again, New Yorkers generally ignored the world around them, in their own.

“Is it just me that thinks she's weird?” Nico asked, glancing back and forth between Percy and the barista. Percy shrugs, “Definitely... _off_.” Shortly after, the redhead called out their names, writing clearly shakily scrawled onto their cups. “G-Got a black coffee, extra sweetener for N-N-Nico! Mocha Frappé for Pe...Percy!”

Nico stood, and retrieved their drinks. When he came back, there was a recognition that dimly lit his dark eyes, but Percy couldn't figure out what. He set their drinks on the table, jaw tense. “I don't remember giving her our names.” Percy nodded.

When they left, Percy felt ghoul-green eyes bore into the back of their heads.

* * *

Being ten years old felt significant in some way for Nico. It wasn't that, _gee whizz! The big one-oh!_ It never had been. He wasn't the type of kid to get hyped over that sort of thing. No, getting excited was for things like Percy's big swim meet-up coming soon, getting to go to McDonald's even though it's raining and past curfew but they were gonna do it anyway because Percy was awesome and wonderful with that rebel-streak they commonly shared.

But it felt... _wrong._ Being ten years old. Like – everything was going to go downhill from there. Like his nightmares, like those stupid, godawful weird dreams he'd been having since he turned six.

Nico, ten year old Nico who still didn't understand algebra and couldn't quite use the word 'oneiric' in a sentence correctly, being ten for Nico was like impending devastation. Like receiving a flaming Molatov and nowhere to throw it. And who knew when it would actually wreak havoc? He didn't know. Didn't want to know. Wanted it to all go away.

 _Not again_ , is all his subconscious would offer.

So, y'know, who the fuck knew what this feeling meant. This restless, desperate, hyperventilating panic that was a constant roiling, toiling, bubbling trouble at the pit of his stomach. In the back of his head, always a background rush in his veins, the ghost of adrenaline sailing him into highs of energy that he wouldn't normally experience.

And, scarily, a lot of it intensified around Percy. Flashes of those green eyes all wild and blazing, something sharp at his neck, messy words and a desolate kind of desperation – pitiful, y'know, the works. Then the image would fade away, and it'd just be Percy. _His_ Percy; Percival Jackson, but the full length of his name didn't sound right whenever he teased about it so he never did. _Perseus,_ something would growl _, like the fucking hero he is._

Shit, the human mind is a scary place. Ten years old, and he knows so much and yet nothing at all. They say that the faces you see in your dreams, they're all made up from faces you've seen at some point in your life. You can't make up something from nothing. Just not how it works. And yet, there's this lingering picture of a little girl, this sad little girl with dull, brass eyes and she's shivering and she's cold and he put this ratty looking jacket around her and it's as if she had never been cold to begin with. Brass turned to a brilliant shade of gold, like the life had surged back through her veins and it was truly perplexing yet beautiful. Because he'd never seen that girl before. Didn't know her name, couldn't but a connection from him to her, to the way her mouth formed his name, to the way she hugged him like Bianca never would.

Speaking of; an imposter-Bianca plagued his dreams, too. This stoic looking one with dark skin and dark mahogany hair, a warrior's stance and sternness to her features that reminds him so much of his sister and him combined. An in between, from Romanic roots, from regimens and four-minute-max showers. _Reyna_ , Reyna something something-or-other. He didn't know her. But she died. Died a hero, he knows, because it sings like _right, yes, finally you fucking caught onto **that** fact at least, Niccolò_.

A lot of the time, there was a jar.

Not much bigger than himself, or even Percy; so small his knees dug into his chest and his nails were bloody and chipped from scratching at the inner walls. All he would experience at that time would be a constant hunger, a lingering ache that he couldn't tell was his stomach or his head, oxygen precious and quickly running out. Delirious, weak, hysterical snatches of moments that brusquely switched from him screaming his throat raw to simply shaking and limp. Lifeless. Fading away.

Nico hastily opened a can of Coca-Cola and pressed the hard edge of the metal to his mouth. It caught his lips when he pulled back, but he didn't care too much. Percy was saying something, something important, about his friends, about his homework. About the swim-meet next week. If he'll be there. But he's always there for Percy, so why bother asking about it? His best friend was a dork sometimes.

Out on the fire-escape, 'cause that's where they always are. Nowhere else wants to welcome them, wants to tolerate them. So the metal-grated floor of the fire-escape will do. “But, yeah, I don't know. Think she might've been mad at me. I didn't do anything, though, so.” Nico glanced to Percy.

Thirteen. His friend was thirteen now, with broader shoulders and wide palms. His voice cracked every now and then, which he will never let Percy live down. He talked more about girls, too, and...boys, sometimes. But not that often. Not as often as Nico thought about them.

Yeah; Nico's gay. He figured that out a while ago.

And, y'know. He had a huge crush on his best friend, which is all the better.

It's a familiar feeling. This sinking feeling whenever Percy talked about the way this girl kept looking at him all day, and, like “I just – dude, like, she would _not_ get a hint.” Nico only smiled, shrugging, “Hey man, chill. Be happy you're a chick-magnet.” Percy scoffed, rolling his eyes a little, “Like you're not? Man, you've gotta see all those girls that look at you all day. And the guys, too. They talk about you in the changing rooms. Did you know that?” Nico wrinkled his nose at the thought. He decided not to answer. Thirteen and fourteen year olds talking about a ten year old, huh? Gross. (If it was Percy, on the other hand, well. Nico couldn't say he'd dislike the idea.)

He knocked his can against Percy's bottle, “That's more worrying than it is flattering, dude.” Percy grimaced, then blanched, before looking green. Nico snickered quietly, deciding the quick transgression of expressions to be amusing. Especially on Percy.

“Hey Nico?” He blinked up to Percy, eyebrow raised. God (gods, there are many of them,) he hoped to high hell that Percy couldn't see how shaky his hand had become in the disconnected moments of his reverie. “Yeah? Wha'sup, Perce?” His friend shifted, fiddling with the bottle cap, “Y'know your, uh, your dad?” Nico scoffed a little, “No, not really. But go on.”

Undeterred, Percy shrugged a little, “Does he seem... _off_ , to you? Y'know, like that girl in the coffee shop?” Nico remained silent for a few beats, staring out to the low above the horizon. “Gimme an example.”

Percy rakes a hand through his hair, lip caught in his teeth in an overly attractive way despite the fact that he was clearly stumped. Distraught, perhaps. “Does – does your dad look at you...as if...as if maybe he expects you to do something a _certain_ way, but then...when you don't do it, he just sort of. Shuts off?” Yes. All the time. Nico's father, a man with a heavy aura of power and a lingering scent of hot iron singed into his trench-coat, Haden – Haden di Angelo, but the name didn't sound right, and clearly, it was a fake name.

Nico knew, because he knew the man before he was born, but he wasn't gonna tell Percy that.

“A lot,” He breathed, at last, and found that his little truth made his hands stiffen around his can. The metal crinkled under his grip. Percy hummed, before gently resting one of his hands over Nico's, easing his grip. Nico downed the rest of his drink before throwing it over the handrail. The was a resounding _clunk_ as it collided with the dumpster. “D'ya think maybe...” Percy started, but he stopped with a shake of his head.

He didn't finish his thought. Nico didn't ask him to.

“What if they're _y'know_.” Nico stared at him, openly not knowing, “What.” Percy shrugged, then gestured vaguely to the sky, “Y'know, Nico. From _up there_.” They hadn't talked about their dreams for three years. Not since Nico panicked and said that his sister was dead, that his sister wasn't _really_ his sister. Bianca's sixteen right about now. Just another pointer that she was clearly an imposter.

For another elongated stretch of time, Nico could only look at his friend and wonder if Percy can differentiate what his mind fabricates and what actually happened. He doubts it. He's never known Percy to really remember in the first place. It hurts, when he's willing to admit it.

“Forget it,” Percy sighed, slumping and nursing the rest of his Pepsi, “It's stupid.” He shook his head, looking back out to the concrete structures and the smoggy skies, “I get it.” That's all he needed to say, because Percy shuddered a heavy sigh. He pulled his arm back, before launching his bottle into the empty space between this apartment building and the one opposite. A hollow _thud_ echoed above the tired streets. The traffic always died down around eight or nine. From seven to ten in the morning, it was always busy – everybody heading for work, to school – and it all fell into a calm until around lunch time. Then, after that, it was basically just busy until seven. Most people were home by then, after rush hour, or those sorry souls stay far too late for money that wont be added to their salary, it's quiet.

Red suns, pink skies, a vacancy that is unnatural, as if time had slowed. ~~Like the Lotus Hotel~~.

“Yeah?” Nico nodded, “Yeah.”

“God, we're fucked.”

Nico chuckled at that, nodding. He punched Percy's shoulder lightly, “At least it's better this time 'round.” Percy was quiet, then, and didn't speak up again until Bianca stuck her head out the kitchen window, “C'mon brat, mamma wants you home now.” Not _fratellino_ , not his name. Brat. Braticus, he liked to think, as if perhaps he could be a Greek Hero if he wanted to. Not that it ever really made him feel better.

Percy strolled with him through the apartment. Nico waved to Percy's mom, Sarah, who smiled back and waved from behind her special reading glasses. She was reading through some folders. Probably a background check on one of her clients. Psychiatry tended to be a busy job.

They lingered by the door, now left open from Bianca's quick departure. Percy eventually reeled Nico in, face pressed to the boy's head, “Sorry I was sorta busy this week. And that I sprung that shit on you.” Nico shrugged. “Language,” Percy's mom said somewhere from the couch. Nico shrugged, “S'fine. I'll see you at the swim-meet?” Percy grinned, nodding, “I'll take you out to McD's or something after.” Nico smiled at the idea. Them, alone, with a Happy Meal for him and a box of twenty-piece McNuggets for Percy? Sounded like a deal.

Though, later that week, on Friday, it turned out it wouldn't be just them.

Percy brought his friends with him. Annabelle and Grover, or something. The weird older one that looks like he could be in his mid-twenties. Apparently he was around seventeen, now. So, last years of highschool. Nico didn't like him. He bleated weirdly and his crutches were an awkward shape. “Custom-made for my, uh, issue.” He'd said. Weirdo.

Nico curled up into the corner, closest to the window. He had lost his appetite the minute he realized that, no, Percy and his friends weren't going to split up. And, no, Annabeth – uh, _Annabelle_ and Grover weren't going to try and involve him in the conversation. Hell, it was like Percy had forgotten he was there.

Which, y'know, was a lovely feeling.

So, huh, Nico just sort of picked at his plastic-wrapped toy and didn't so much as touch his meal. They'd been here for half an hour already; Grover had eaten his entire wrap-thing-whatever, and looked about ready to either ask Nico if he was gonna finish his food or just eat the box his wrap came in. It was cold against the window. At least Percy had sat with him on his side of the booth, instead of shoving Grover next to him or something. Involuntarily, Nico slumped against Percy and curled his fingers into Percy's swim-team jacket.

Captain of the school swim-team. Who knew.

There was a sudden lull in the conversation, as Percy's attention derailed from that stupidly smart blonde across from him. He could feel eyes on him, as he seeped more warmth from his friend. Percy's hair was still a little damp, a warm glow to his face, even under the bleak lighting of the McDonald's establishment. Percy grabbed a single, limp fry and nudged it against Nico's sealed mouth. “C'mon, eat up, dude.”

“Since when did you call people _dude?_ ” Annabitch asked. Annabelle, Annabeth. Whatever. She's a show off all the same. _Hubris_ , a dark little part hissed at him. _Hubris, use it against her_. Not that Nico actually knew how. Nico chewed on the stale french fry in his mouth, but ultimately resigned to keeping his eyes closed and pretending he wasn't listening.

Percy shrugged, “I've always called Nico 'dude'. Jus' a thing.” Percy nudged the straw of his drink to his mouth this time, waiting until Nico started chewing the straw before putting the drink back on the table. The girl made a sound, either dubious or negative, Nico didn't really care.

A couple minutes later, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, the two pack up and leave. Percy waves after them, declining when they offer for him to come with them to so-and-so's party tonight. Then it's just the two of them. Like Nico had selfishly wanted since the beginning. Nico played with the shiny medal around Percy's neck. It's a cheap thing, with a _#1_ engraved into it. But they both take pride in it, a symbolic thing. He made it; he did it, he won. Nico couldn't be prouder.

“You haven't eaten anything,” Percy muttered. Nico shrugged, “Not...not hungry, I guess.” He sat up, toying with the hem of his old Marilyn Monroe shirt. Percy hummed, before nudging the left over McNuggets to him, “Gotta eat something.” Nico didn't move, just ducked his head.

“What's wrong, Nico? You've been quiet since – oh.”

Nico brought his knees to his chest, wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He knows, once, he would've been able to do just that. Not anymore, and perhaps that's what that lingering emptiness in the space between his stomach and his heart was. Percy slung an arm around Nico's shoulders, hummed softly into his mess of curls, “Sorry, bud. I didn't – I was just...” Lonely. Tired of Nico. The usual.

“It's fine. Not your fault you want people your age to hang out with.”

Apparently that wasn't the right thing to say, because Percy was pulling back with a sad, almost betrayed look. “That's not what I meant.” Nico shrugged, like he always did, and stood up, “Well, whatever, y'know? Doesn't matter.” He just wanted to go home.

(Except, he didn't have a home, never really found one before his time was up.)

* * *

Looking back, Percy never really understood why this whole... _other life_ bothered him so much.

But then there was this time on the subway where a guy kept twitching, watching them with this near voracious quality that made strangers around them give him dubious looks. He stepped off on the same stop as them, stalked them through the dark backstreets that lead to their apartment building. The man, Nico kept telling Percy that _no, idiota, he's got fuckin' hooves._ So, y'know.

Then something dark stepped out of the shadows, a tall looming mess of dark tendrils and a long sword that didn't reflect the street lamps. Nico had been stopped in his tracks, slack-jawed. Percy had tried to pull Nico along, heart racing, a weird urge to jump in and help settle like muscle memory in his system. He succeeded in getting Nico back to his apartment. By the time they looked down into the alley, both figures were gone.

Gold dust glittered back up from where the moonlight reached down. Percy looked to Nico, who was paler than somebody who saw a ghost, and his knuckles were whitening with how harsh the grip was on the fire-escape's handrail. “Nico -” Words failed him.

“That...that looked like my dad, Perce.”

(It doesn't get brought up again.)

Later that night, with Nico curled tight into Percy's side like he had come accustomed to doing years ago, Percy stared at the ceiling. _That looked like my dad, Perce_. He hadn't seen much; just – just maybe the moon's glare on half the guy's face. How he materialized from _nothing_ , like _at all_ , and then the other dude just sort of morphed and swelled into this huge hulking thing with bull horns and maybe a pair of horse-feet? Cow-feet? Fuck knew.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember the moon reaching (presumed) Mr di Angelo's eyes. But the facial similarities of that fleeting moment alone was compelling. Not that Percy didn't believe Nico, because his friend wouldn't just say something like that. And, underneath it all, it just felt right to see it that way.

* * *

When Percy was around seventeen, he and Nico ran away for the weekend.

“Percival Peter Jackson, you get up here right now, young man!” Yikes. Percy frowned, arching his neck up to the window that his mother yelled at him from. Nico snickered beside him, lips snapping shut when Percy glowered at him. Though, amusement still danced with ardor in his eyes. “Don't you laugh Nico, I want you up here too!” Nico's poorly-hidden grin dropped immediately.

“What did _I_ do?” He grumbled. Percy bumped shoulders with him as they stepped into the lobby, “Uh, run away with me for the weekend to Long Island?” Nico smirked, nodding, “Yeah, I guess there's that. I thought she'd be more worried 'bout the fact I didn't water the house plants whilst we were gone.” By now, Bianca had all but uprooted herself from their lives and left for boarding school. She only came home for the important holiday breaks.

The pair trekked up the flights of stairs, bickering lightly to each other on the way up. “Y'think it'll be anything bad?” Percy worried, looking to Nico. His friend wasn't much help, adjusting his bag, “Don't look at me, Jackson. I'm not the one with the conscious, seething, pitbull mother.” He scoffed, shoving Nico, “Yeah, at least mine's actually _in it_ enough to notice my absence.” It should hurt, the jab, but Nico just shrugged it off with another whip-sharp smirk, “Touche, asshole.”

They pull to a stop after the next however many floors, panting a little heavily, “Why the hell do we live on the top floor?” Percy shrugged, “Beats me, man. My mom wanted the view.” Nico didn't reply, didn't say why his mom moved all the way up here, but it's not like Percy expected him to.

Reluctantly, Percy reached for the door, pushing it open. And there she was, Sarah Jackson in all her raging, motherly glory, “ _Where_ were you two this weekend?” Nico shrugged, shifting the strap of his bag, “Around.” Percy squirmed under the scrutiny of his mother's gaze, before nodding along, “Yeah. Around.” Sarah shut the door in their faces, “Then go be _around_ some more, then. See if I care, because clearly you two don't.”

Nico rolled his eyes, and dragged Percy across the hall to his own apartment. The air was heavy, stagnant as they set foot inside. Like it always was, because Mary never left her room to clean up. His friend immediately set foot to the nearest window, propping it open as wide as it'd go. “Mamma! I'm home!” Nico called. No response, as usual. She'd stopped responding for a couple years, now, occasionally appearing from her room to go to the bathroom and not much else. Percy sometimes wondered if she was sick. Nico didn't talk about it much.

Percy wandered into the kitchen and opened up some more windows in there, whilst Nico started beating dust out of the couch cushions. He hadn't been home for a while; Nico spent so much time at Percy's nowadays without Bianca around to help keep the apartment in shape. This place would go weeks without dusting, without being lived in. Not that it was Nico's fault. Percy would rather Nico where he could keep an eye on him, in lieu of being somewhere like this. Unsupervised. (Nico had taken to stabbing things, as of late. His mom said it was an external outlet for an internal issue.)

Percy dropped his bag on the coffee table, rolling his shoulders. The di Angelo residence was minimalist at best; clearly wasn't intended for a comfortable living arrangement. It's no wonder. A lone, emptied bookshelf in the corner of the lounge area, an old couch that came with the place, along with a doily-covered coffee table. The walls were sallow yellow, the kitchen tiles were grime-covered, and the air was always musty.

He let himself fall into the couch. Nico slumped beside him, kicking off his boots, “Y'kay?” He nodded, bumping shoulders, “Yeah. You?” Nico shrugged, “Fine.” Percy exhaled, sinking even deeper into the couch, “Pizza?” Nico nodded, “I'll pay.” Percy frowned, elbowing him, “You paid last time. I got it, man.” The boys bickered momentarily, before deciding to split the bill.

It arrived around twenty minutes later, after Nico had lit a cigarette and shared it with him. Reluctant, Nico handed Percy what cash he'd gathered for his share, before Percy stood and made for the door. When he opened it, it wasn't the smell of hot, greasy pizza that greeted him. It was Grover, san crutches. “Uh, hey Grove. What's up?” Nico groaned loudly, palms to his face, “All I want is pizza, for fuck sake.” he couldn't help but chuckle, but turning back to his older friend, he appeared grave, “...Grove?”

Percy took steps back, letting him in. the air fell still. Nico moved from the couch, practically shoving Grover down onto it, “You want a drink?” Grover shrugged, wringing out his hands, “Whatcha got?” Nico opened the fridge. After a moment, “Grotty tap-water.” He closed the fridge. Percy swore to high hell that Grover bleated to himself, clearly clammy-palmed and panicky.

“Look, I think you guys need to sit down for this.” Nico remained standing, whilst Percy sat without objection. There was another beat of silence, before his older friend managed to steal himself, “Okay, so you guys are demigods.” Yup. Something sang inside him at the news. He figured, already. A glance at Nico said that he had already knew something along those lines.

Grover glanced between them; looked like he half expected one of them to punch him. “Half-god, half-human,” He said, as if they weren't away of what a fucking _demigod_ was. “'Kay.” Nico ran a hand through his hair, before toying with his cigarette, “What else is new.” The look on his face would've been comical, had his gaze not hardened to something even more sober, “So do you guys remember anything?” An oddly specific question. Nico asked him to narrow it down.

Wringing his hands, once again, Grover scratched at his rastacap, “Fighting, or, uh, anybody you've never seen before? Cus, cus, uh. Y'know; just curious.” Percy felt something ease in his gut. Something simmer pleasantly, content, satisfied that the burning had come to a stop. That little burn that had always been there. “You.”

Another bleat, another fidget, before Percy blinked and his friend looked maybe a little older (though definitely into his late-twenties, now,) and those limp legs of his had torn his jeans a little with how his legs formed into a goat's. Nico eventually sat on the coffee table, “Not much, though. Just...faces.” Percy grinned at him, excited. He shared a look with him: _we're finally getting somewhere._

Grover saddened a little, but continued, “Well, uh. Describe them?” Percy immediately fell into a description of the faces he'd seen – blue eyes, lots of blue eyes, some with black hair, some with blond hair, some with scars, some without. Lots of blonds with scars. One with a scar down his face, the other one with a scar on his lip. One Greek, one Roman. Lots of blonds and blue eyes, lots of brunettes and dark eyes, a lot of everything in between. Nico remained silent, sullen, almost.

Hours passed, maybe. Pizza was forgotten, just Percy trying to string sentences together, clearly enjoying this whole idea of rediscovering himself. Nico, contrarily, fell into a deeper stupor. He remained silent, until Percy paused for another breath, “Why did you come here?” Grover scratched his little horns, wiggling in his seat, “Meant to take you guys home.” _Home_. Nico didn't have a home.

“Back to Camp Half-Blood, y'know, cus I'm a satyr.” Why hadn't he done that sooner? Why had he hung around for so long, why hadn't he –

“You have fun with that. Like fuck am I going back.” Nico appeared adamant on this fact. Percy's face fell.

“What? No! Nico, c'mon; this is what we've been wa -” No it wasn't. It wasn't what they had been waiting for, it hadn't been on the back of his mind the entirety of his life. Nico knew this. Clearly, he was aware of where Percy's thoughts had scrambled, from that dark look in those even darker eyes, how they practically pinned him to the couch with one blink. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment.

Nico stood, grabbed Percy by his arm, and dragged them into the half-privacy of the little kitchen, “Talk to me, Perce.” Percy shrugged, feeling cold, feeling like the world had ended. And this time, he couldn't save it. “It's not what we've been waiting for, is it?” Nico shrugs, crossing his arms, “I dunno, dude. Maybe it's what _you've_ been after. Actively looking for, maybe it's what _you've_ always wanted.” Not what he wanted. Not what Nico had been scoping out since he was ten.

“It wouldn't be the same,” Percy whispered. Nico shook his head, “No, it wouldn't be. Those people; some of them are _dead_ already, Percy. Some of them will look at you, see somebody _like_ you, and project that expectation onto you. It's the way grief works, dude. They'll look, they'll see an old friend, and they'll want him back. But he's not gonna be you. Not entirely.” Percy shook his head, sighing. A weight settled onto his shoulders, whilst a heavier one slipped off. Nico grabbed his shoulders, squeezing them a little, “You're not – you're not Perseus Jackson anymore.” He said it softly, like when they'd whisper to each other late into the night, as if it was a secret between them. Percy shook his head. Because he wasn't. Nico was right; he wasn't Perseus anymore, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was simple, plain, Percival Jackson.

“But you do what you want. Instincts are natural, and it's wrong to ignore them.” Percy smiled softly, before shaking his head, “You wont go if I do, will you?” Nico shook his head.

That's the scary thing about Nico. Fourteen year old Nico who'd already lived through that life once, lived through the life before that one, perhaps the one before that. Fourteen year old Nico who should really be around twenty if he had lived long enough, who even then, should be around eighty-seven if not older. Fourteen year old Nico who knew how the social-need of humans worked, how the independence of gods worked, knew how combined, it was an eerie combination of being able to disconnect at any time. (And latch onto something stronger than an iron-grip.)

Nico wouldn't follow if Percy left.

Nico was his own person, wasn't a blind worshiper to lying gods, wasn't a break easily broken, wasn't a will easily bent to somebody else's. Nico would remain, even if Percy left him behind.

And yet, here's the funny part. Percy would follow, if Nico were to lead. He may have been a leader once, seventeen year old Percy who was once born with enough gall to baffle immortal deities, who was once born with the rage of an ocean at his fingertips (and still is. But one could look at him and easily say that those abilities had grown dormant over the time period his soul had been searching.)

If Nico were to go to Camp Half-Blood, Percy would go. But Nico wasn't going, so neither was Percy. “Sorry Grove,” Percy stumbled back into the kitchen, shrugging a little helplessly, “We're not going anywhere.” Defeated, disappointed, clearly heartbroken if not the slightest bit understanding, Grover stood up, chewing a can produced from his pocket. He bleated once, and exited the apartment.

They didn't see Grover again after that.

* * *

Years after, where the occasionally gruesome, non-human thing found itself half-dead on their doorstep, and sometimes there would be random little gifts sighed either _-H_ or _-P_ on their shared nightstand, Percy had grown accustomed to the obscure details of their life.

Ignorance is bliss, knowledge is responsibility and all that. Percy's had enough responsibility for one lifetime – literally. Waking up to Nico is all he'll need. Nico, who's so smart, yet for some reason failed most of his courses through university and stuck to a coffeehouse job, with big black eyes and a liking to Percy since the beginning. It really is something. Like this morning.

Sun filtering through the blinds, stretching long, pale lines of light across Nico's hips, where the comforter just hid what was between his legs. There came joy to the quiet moments, ones that Percy used to take for granted, never really understood until an old soul of his, discarded and known to now reside in Isles of Bliss somewhere within the pocket dimensions of the earth. He understands, now.

He rolls over, presses Nico's slumbering body deep into the mattress and simply breaths into the crook of his neck. Bittersweet. Like pomegranates, like those stupid ice-pomegranates he used to love so much when he was smaller. Percy sometimes wanders if things could've gone differently, if their paths could've derailed somewhere along the way due to mistakes and grudges. No such thing happened, and Percy will begrudgingly thank whatever gods he dares think about for that.

They still hadn't tried to delve deeper into that godly mess, and Percy's content with that idea. He'd rather be oblivious, than know what horrors he had lived and could possibly live again if he dared near the topic. Nico turns, murmurs muffled into the pillow. He lets out a whine, one that Percy feels against his front, and tightens his arms around Nico's waist, “Hm? What's that, baby?” Nico squirms some more, but Percy smirks, and doesn't move. “G'off, Perce.” He lingers for a few seconds, feeling Nico's shoulder-blades dig into his chest. Then he props himself up onto his elbows, allowing Nico to turn onto his back before laying on top of him again, “Hey.”

“Ugh. What.” Love of his life, right here.

“Love you,” Percy sighs. Nico rolls his eyes, tired, palm rubbing harshly into his eye, “Mff. Ditto.” Pouting, Percy nuzzles into the crook of Nico's neck, “Aww, c'mon. Gimme more than that.” Nico shrugs, “What even is love, really? For all we know, it's only endorphins -” Percy shuts him up with a kiss, pulling back with a sigh, “C'mon. Tell me you love me.” Nico clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head.

With his best effort, he shoves Percy off of him, before wandering into the bathroom. He scoffs to the ceiling, flopping onto his back, “Jerk!” Nico's quiet chuckle echoes through the apartment. It's rough, husky in the morning. The best part of the morning; waking to that voice, those eyes. To Nico. His boyfriend – no,  _fianc_ _é_ _._ Yeah; that sounds good. Percy toys with the simple silver band on his finger, brushing his finger over the little words engraved over the top.  _Long live love._

He smiles to himself, letting his hand rest above his heartbeat. Nico reemerges, slinking back int the comfort of the comforter. “By the way,” He loops an arm around Percy's middle, “Was there any particular reason that you decided to try and suffocate me?” Percy shrugs, smiling, “Mm.” 

Nico clucks his tongue, curling into Percy's side. “Hey,” Percy says, curling fingers into Nico's hair, “You never said you loved me.” Nico blinks at him, tired, “If I'm engaged to you, surely that must mean something.” Percy frowns, batting his eyelashes at Nico, “C'mon, baby. Just once. I wont ask again.” Nico grumbled under his breath, “Why can't you just take my word for it?” There's a teasing glimmer in his eyes. Percy whines, “C'moooon. I know I'm not the only sap.”

His lover wrinkles his nose, “I should hope so. Sap comes from trees.” He slides a leg over Nico's middle, too, pulling himself to stretch around the older boy as best he can, “You should know how I feel, Perce.” His voice falls to a whisper, wiry hand coming to rest above Percy's heartbeat, “I love you, my Percival Jackson.” Percy chuckles, “Could I get that without  _Percival?_ ” Nico shakes his head with a grin, “What else would I call you?” 

_ Perseus. _

“How about just Percy?” Nico smiles.

“I love you, _Just Percy_.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sarah' (Sally); is a psychiatrist, Percy's mom, blah blah. Poseidon kinda went for a lady like Sally, by nature, since he missed his favorite kid, wanted him back, blah blah.
> 
> 'Mary' (Maria); is...I didn't go that far into thinking it through, okay? But yeah, she's Nico's mom. Just another woman, really, Hades seems to have a thing for women with M-Names. Or anything close to Maria, perhaps (Marie, for example.)
> 
> 'Percival' Jackson. Yeah, so, this time 'round, this Sarah wasn't into Greek stuff all that much, maybe. Poseidon was more involved with Percy's birth, and insisted that it at least be something along the lines of 'Percy', so that he could recreate the illusion that his son is back, after mourning (maybe?) The same sorta goes for Hades; made sure that everything lined up as best it could (Italian mother, two kids, Bianca and Nico, etc.) Because as much as gods don't like to admit, they do have favorites. The loss of their sons was hard, shut up, gods totally have feelings too.
> 
> However! Yes, they are demigods. The chances were probably a lot lower, realistically speaking, for Percy and Nico to be reborn as demigods. But, y'know, this is fanfiction and I like to entertain this idea, so fuck all of you who want to point that out. And the OOC-ness of this. So, the really short snips - like with the 'dead bird', and the weird moment with Hades coming out of the shadows to kill off what I sort of wanted to be the Minotaur, it's all freaky monster stuff. Though there's an obvious lack of monsters in this, since this is Post-Gaia and all that stuff, so I imagine that monster activity would be at a low whilst they remained in Hell's Basement to lick their wounds, maybe. (Also the fact that it was Hades that came out to fight off the monster? I like to believe that the mighty God of the Underworld would keep tabs on his kids, after however you like to believe they died, and maybe got the gist that Nico didn't want to deal with that shit again. So, y'know, pseudo-protect them is the way to go.) 
> 
> So what I'm thinking is that maybe this is an alternate ending to [this shitty thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12363777), since a few of the characters I mentioned (like Rachel, Grover,) are still alive, whilst others (Annabeth, maybe Bianca,) were reborn. Though, we know that canonically, Bianca had already chosen rebirth when Nico was alive, I just sort of maybe had the idea that her soul may have taken a while to find the right time to be birthed back into the world (? What the fuck am I even talking about now.) But, uh, yeah. I such at explanations, we all know this, so I'm just gonna awkwardly taper of here.
> 
> Hope you liked it, because it was hell to write and I actually broke one of my fingers whilst in the process of writing this. *Do you know how hard it is to type on a laptop without your middle finger?


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